


quantify the effects of your smile on my psyche

by spiekiel



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Codependency, F/M, Pre-Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:10:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiekiel/pseuds/spiekiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's fifteen her first year at MIT, and she's lost, too smart for her own good and too damn scared by the world, decked out in polos and skinny jeans and a pair of red converse she's had for years.</p><p>Then there's Fitz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	quantify the effects of your smile on my psyche

The thing is, Jemma's forgotten how to live without Fitz.

 

It's funny, because her brain doesn't usually delete information willy-nilly like that - usually everything gets stored away neatly in case she ever needs to access it later, but - well, maybe she just never thought she'd ever need to go back.  Never thought she'd ever have to go back to waking up and making one cup of tea, taking her time in the shower because she doesn't have to save the hot water, because Fitz isn't yelling at her to _hurry it up_ - 

 

Jemma stares down at her breakfast - toast with jam and half an orange because she's having Earl Grey this morning and there should always be some color in your morning meal, her mum used to say, to start the day off bright.  Her wet hair hangs limp over her shoulders, tangled up in the collar of her shirt, and she should probably brush it, shouldn't she, but all she really wants to do is collapse back into bed, or scream, maybe, because the flat is too quiet - 

 

&

 

She's fifteen her first year at MIT, and she's lost, too smart for her own good and too damn scared by the world, decked out in pressed polos and skinny jeans and a pair of bright red converse sneakers that she's had for years, that she used to doodle on in class.

 

When she left London, she left her family, her friends, her safe, sheltered life on the bank of the Thames where her father taught her to sail and she sometimes skimmed bacteria off the surface of the river to grow back home in her makeshift incubator.  In Boston everything is loud and unfamiliar and she's a fish out of water, she can barely get the oxygen she needs from this city and - 

 

Then there's Fitz, who wasn't happy at CalTech, kept getting sunburned and had to transfer - who ends up transferred into Jemma's life and Jemma's room because she's the only other fifteen year old on campus.  

 

They're both awkward as hell, but they're kids, and they click.  Jemma proofreads Fitz's bio essays and Fitz helps Jemma through her theoretical calculus homework and when they're done they watch Star Trek reruns and share a carton of mint chocolate chip ice cream.  A month in, Fitz accidentally wears one of Jemma's cardigans to class; five months in, Jemma lives and breathes in his smile, in the way his hair curls across his forehead like it hasn't got a care in the world, despite the care that he takes to keep it neat.

 

Jemma finishes her bachelor's thirteen months early and then kicks Fitz's ass for five weeks until he gets done his, and at that point they're both eighteen and whenever they go out for Chinese food Jemma catches herself wanting to kiss him, desperately.

 

But she doesn't, because he's all she has in the world, and he still gets jumpy sometimes, like she's holding him so close he can't breathe.

 

&

 

SHIELD approaches them in their eighth year at MIT.  Fitz is working on his second PhD and Jemma's just wrapping up her first and they're living out of a room at the Hampton Inn, looking for a flat in their spare time.

 

The recruitment officer that comes to their door in the middle of dinner gets quite the surprise when Jemma's slightly-illegal cell marking experiment that's set up on the back radiator chooses that moment to burst into flames.  Fitz puts it out with his glass of juice and Jemma shoves the whole thing out the window in a panic, because they've already been kicked out of three hotels this week and they're going to have to stay at the Super 8 pretty soon - 

 

By the time they open the door, the hem of Jemma's shirt is smoking and Fitz has tried to clean up the instant noodles that he spilled all over the rug in his haste to put out the fire, but he's only made it worse.  The recruitment officer looks like he can't decide whether to laugh or just turn around and leave, and Jemma's ninety-five percent sure he's hotel security, so she smiles politely and nudges Fitz in the side until he does the same.

 

"How can we help you?" she says, resisting the urge to pat at her shirt so it'll go out for good.  She glances sideways at Fitz, and he's doing that terrible fake smile that he always gets when he knows that he's taking on water faster than he can bail it - 

 

"Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz?" asks the officer, in a tone that suggests he already knows the answer and is not happy with it at all. 

 

"Yes," says Jemma, at the same time that Fitz asks nervously, "Are you here to kick us out?"

 

The officer reaches inside his black jacket and pulls out a badge, which he proceeds to flash so quickly that neither of them get a very good look at it.  "I'm with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division," he says.  "I'd like to speak with you two about joining our program."

 

They let him in only once he's promised that he won't tell the hotel that they disabled the smoke alarms and then set something on fire, and by the time he leaves they have very little idea of what SHIELD is or what their jobs would be, but there was something about aliens in there, and also free EMPs.  

 

Fitz fires up the coffee maker that he modified and produces another batch of instant noodles, and they sit cross-legged on Jemma's bed, MythBusters playing silently on the hotel television.

 

"Do you think that was for real?" Fitz asks around a mouthful of noodles.

 

Jemma twists her plastic fork around in her coffee mug and hopes that it was.  "I don't know, Fitz," she says quietly.  "Aliens? Secret government organizations? It all sounds a little far-fetched, doesn't it?"

 

"He had a badge," Fitz says, like that actually means anything in this day and age.

 

He's wearing baggy sweatpants and a CalTech sweatshirt that's way too small for him, and Jemma wants to wrap herself up in him and bury her face in his neck, but she doesn't want anything to change.  "We'd be - we'd be uprooting our lives, Fitz," she responds.  "We're in the middle of getting our doctorates, we're about to buy a flat, we can't just - "

 

"We can, though," says Fitz, brandishing his fork at her.  "Agent Jones said that we can complete whatever we're working on now in SHIELD training, everything will transfer over."

 

Jemma raises a forkful of noodles tentatively to her mouth.  She's never been very adventurous - Fitz is always the one dragging her out for night on the town, Fitz is the one who bought them both plane tickets to Tokyo on a whim last spring break, even though that's a ridiculous idea because neither of them speak Japanese - 

 

"Come on, Jemma," says Fitz, gently, like he knows that if he pushes too hard she'll resist instinctively, "I won't go without you."

 

&

 

The first holiday that they spend apart is so terrible that they resolve never to do it again if at all possible, and they're only sixteen when they make that promise but they keep it diligently, because Jemma remembers how tightly Fitz hugged her when he picked her up at the airport - 

 

Fitz has family in Glasgow and Jemma's parents are in London, so they usually manage to make it to both households.  No one questions their blatant co-dependency, except Fitz's Aunt Ethel, who's a habitual alcoholoc and doesn't generally get invited to family functions anyways.

 

They alternate Christmas dinners year to year, and it's all smooth sailing except for that one year they got invited to a party one of their professors was throwing at school, and also that one year that Fitz has to fly out a day after Jemma and somehow gets stuck in Zurich (which is strange considering he was flying direct from La Guardia), leaving Jemma to spend the holiday alone with his family - 

 

That's their fourth Christmas together, the year that Fitz sends one of her papers to Bruce Banner as a gift to surprise her with his feedback, the year that Jemma gets her hands on a prototype Stark phone and puts it in a watch box to make him think she got him another Timex.  That's the year that the gift-giving starts to get competitive and out of hand, the year they get smashed on day-old eggnog and sit on Fitz's back porch all night even though it's literally two degrees out, with one scarf wrapped around both of them - 

 

"I wanted to be a veterinarian, when I was little," Jemma slurs, keeling further sideways onto Fitz's shoulder, and her legs are cold because she's in a sundress and stockings but Fitz's breath is warm against the crown of her head, and she can't see the end at all, which usually scares her shitless, but doesn't now.

 

Fitz laughs, quietly, like any louder would disturb the crisp evening.  "You and animals?"

 

"I _am_ a biologist, Fitz, in case you've forgotten."  She does her best to sound offended, but she doesn't care enough to lift her head from his shoulder.  "I work with animals."

 

"Yeah, but not like - not _real_ animals," he's speaking faster than usual, but that's how he gets on alcohol, still crisp but _quick_ , frenzied like he's fixing to run away.  "Just lab rats and stuff."

 

"There's no reason I couldn't do real animals," Jemma doesn't have to look up to know Fitz is smiling, his cheek pressed sideways into her hair and she can almost feel his dimples - 

 

"No, come on," he says.  "You'd get too sad, Jemma.  You'd take one look at a sick puppy and just start fussing over it, and you'd never get any work done."

 

Jemma smiles despite herself, and closes her eyes against the nighttime because there are too many stars, too many places and times and all she wants to be is _here,_ _now._

 

"Besides," Fitz continues, and he must really be getting exhaused because he's starting to add syllables where there shouldn't be any, "I think every kid goes through a phase where they want to be a veterinarian, it's like a right of passage or something."

 

"Did you, then?"

 

"No, no," Fitz shakes his head minutely.  "I wanted to be an astronaut.  Or work for the space program, or something - I never really had it all worked out."

 

"Oh, I had it _all_ planned out," Jemma smiles.  "I had a name for my practice - Paws and Claws Animal Hospital - and I was going to have one other vet working with me, and three nurses, two interns, and once a month we were going to host charity dinners for the local animal shelters - I got my cat at a shelter when I was ten, so - "

 

Fitz shifts out from under her, and she catches herself with a hand on the edge of the picnic table they're sitting on top of, the wood a cold shock on her warm fingers.  "Fitz, what - "

 

He gets his hands on the sides of her face and then he's kissing her, his freezing nose pressing against hers and her hands in his hair and maybe she ends up in his lap but neither of them will remember this in the morning, anyways - 

 

&

 

"You think I won't go without you, but I will.  I will, Fitz, I mean it."

 

They never fight.  Not like this, at least - not with Jemma crying in the kitchen and Fitz standing behind the couch and clutching it like he'd throw it at her, if he could.  They bicker and they banter and every once and a while she'll slap him upside the head, only when he deserves it, but it never matters, because in the end they still have each other, it never matters - 

 

"Agent Coulson is handing us this fabulous opportunity, and you're just going to - _what?_ \- miss out on the chance of a lifetime?"

 

His face twists and she feels like her insides are tearing themselves apart, like she's going against her religion, like that fancy new virus the lab got their hands on is burning her up - 

 

"The chance of a lifetime, Jemma?" Fitz demands furiously, and his face is red, hair wild, and she can't decide whether she wants to pat it down or run her hands through it, but neither is acceptable in the current situation.  "Really? The chance that - that might _end_ our lifetimes, that's what this is.  We're not field agents - "

 

"We don't have to be," Jemma wants to shout but they can't, not when they're discussing SHIELD and Fitz hasn't gotten done soundproofing the flat yet.  "You heard Agent Coulson, we'll be working primarily on the Bus, there are actual field agents to go on the ground - "

 

Fitz throws his hands up in exasperation, which should look stupid, but - "I don't want you to get yourself killed, Jemma! And I don't want to get myself killed, either, I don't want to go to any funerals in any capacity - "

 

"You're being absolutely _ridiculous,_ Fitz, it's perfectly safe, we've had all the training we need."

 

Fitz goes past her for the door.  It's raining outside, a relentless assault of water against the windows, but he passes up the pink umbrella inside the door and leaves his coat in the closet, just steps into his shoes and opens the front door.  

 

"I'm going," he says, unnecessarily, and Jemma's heart does a backflip in her chest, but the door's already closing behind him, and - 

 

"Fitz, don't - "

 

&

 

For the first month and eight days of SHIELD training, Jemma and Fitz are assigned to separate quarters.  

 

Jemma's in a suite with three other girls, two of whom are called Kelly, none of whom have brains worth a damn, and she spends most of her time either in Fitz's single or in the waffle kiosk three floors down, pouring over her training manual.

 

They give up their mint chocolate chip ice cream habit in favor of oreos and milk, because every time Fitz manages to get his hands on a freezer it's whisked away while he's not looking, since apparently there was a problem a while back with some biologists freezing things they shouldn't.  After a week or so there's a stack of biochem papers on Fitz's desk and the couch in Jemma's room is made up as a cot, despite the protests of both Kellys; after two, Jemma's almost used to waking up without the sound of Fitz's _technologially improved_ alarm clock, but she's also used to sleeping less than seven hours a night, and her work is slipping - 

 

Fitz comes back from classes one day with an electrical burn the size of Jemma's hand, saying, "I was rushing, I wasn't paying attention, we had a waffle date" - so she puts in a request and the next day they're moving into a new double, having promised their supervising officer that there won't be any _fraternizing._

 

&

 

She still gets scared, sometimes, that he'll run away.  She needs him more than he needs her, and it's glaringly obvious, in the way she can't enjoy a movie without his dorky asides, in the way she's hopeless at navigating her way through anything, especially airports, always gets lost, needs Fitz to grab her by the shoulder and redirect her - 

 

And maybe she's a little more adventurous now, maybe she can take risks and order new dishes from Mr. Rice restaurant down the street, but she doesn't want to do any of that - doesn't want to go out in the world if Fitz isn't with her, if she doesn't have Fitz to go back to - 

 

&

 

"I can't really go without you," Jemma mumbles.  She's folded up in the corner of the couch with her knees pulled up to her chest like she's holding in the rest of her tears, even though they _must_ all be gone by now, hair still drying, her shirt collar damp.  "You know that, right?"

 

Her breakfast - what's left of it after her feeble attempt at eating - sits abandoned on the kitchen table, tea going cold, toast soggy.  Fitz looks up slowly from beside her on the couch, dressed in a leather jacket that he acquired from who-knows-where, his hair frizzy from last night's rain.  

 

"I know," he concedes.  "That part I know, yeah."  

 

His voice sounds overly-loud in the quiet flat, even though it's lower than usual, a little raspy with disuse, or with screaming, and Jemma's ears are still ringing from the night before, like their fight was some kind of bomb that went off - 

 

"I'm not sorry, though," Fitz continues.  "I meant what I said.  I _do_ think it's too dangerous, alright, but if - if you're going, I'm going with you."

 

Jemma feels a smile spreading across her face before she can stop it, and she turns her head down to try and hide it but there's no shot, not really, not when the weight of the world has just been lifted from her shoulders.  "That's good," she says, and it's a ridiculous understatement if ever there was one, "because I don't think I would have made it without you - remember Tokyo - "

 

"In the underground, yeah," Fitz's lips turn up at the corners, and it's barely-there but it's something, and Jemma will take it, she'll take anything, any part of him - 

 

"I'm an absolute wreck whenever you're not around, Fitz," she says, and she tries to make it sound light but she's dead serious and she knows he knows it.  "Really, you left for - what? - eight hours or so just now, and look at me - " 

 

She breaks off, laughs, reaches up to push her hair out of her face, but Fitz's hand is already there, his thumb quivering on her cheek, fingers curled under her ear, and she swears he's tracing the tracks her tears left, last night, yesterday, earlier - 

 

"You're a right mess, Jemma, really," he says, with a lilt to his voice that lets her know he's poking fun.  "It's a wonder they let you be a SHIELD agent, actually - "

 

" _Hey - "_

 

He kisses her, and she closes her eyes and sort of topples forwards into him, and it's like she's watching all those stars - all those times and all those places - and they're all rushing past and it's all she can do to hold on to where she's at, can't focus on where she's going.

 

Fitz pushes her back into the couch cushions, and she tangles her fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck like she's been wanting to for _ages_ , and they're both smiling, and they'll probably remember this tomorrow unless something goes horribly wrong, but nothing's wrong - actually, it's finally _right -_

 

&


End file.
